


On the Shore of the Wide World

by hidingupatreeorsomething



Series: On the Shore of the Wide World Series [1]
Category: Homeland
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Post 6.12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-12-05 04:55:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 19,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11570763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidingupatreeorsomething/pseuds/hidingupatreeorsomething
Summary: FINALE NOW POSTED - An unexpected visitor for Quinn... #QuaxQuinn escapes 6.12 and builds a new life. This started out as a one-off snap fic written just after 6.12, where Quinn was secretly whisked away to a new life and went off to meet his son on the beach. Now grown into a whole long-ass work exploring what happens next. Has a pretty happy ending, eventually, so stick with it through the moments of Quinn-suffering on the way through and I promise it'll be worth it!Hit me up on Twitter at@hidingupatree_!





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously one of my S06 snap fanfics, now the start of a whole new life...

_Title[stolen from Simon Stephens](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/On_the_Shore_of_the_Wide_World), who [stole it from John Keats](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/When_I_have_Fears_that_I_may_Cease_to_Be), who turns out - appropriately enough - to have written it in a poem called “When I have Fears that I may Cease to Be”. So let’s put those fears to bed for Peter Quinn._

_In the car._

KEANE - What was his name?

CARRIE - Peter Quinn.

KEANE - Peter Quinn.

_After the moment of stillness, chaos breaks out – security officers – thank God not from the Deltas – reach in and grab Keane, drag her out, into another car and drive off. More of them grab Carrie and pull her out, while another yanks open the driver’s door, reaches in, puts two fingers to Quinn’s neck._

_Moments before Carrie is shoved into another car and driven off, she hears a shout - “He’s alive, get me a medic…” – she turns, tries to get back to Quinn – how the fuck did she miss that he was clinging on in there? But she’s forced into the car, the door slammed behind her._

_She looks back through the rear window as it screeches off, and sees paramedics running to Quinn, dragging him out of the car and lying him on the ground. Then the car turns a corner and he’s gone from sight._

—

_Carrie’s phone rings. She answers._

CARRIE - Dar. Where is he? Did he make it?

DAR - I’m sorry, Carrie.

CARRIE - No. No - don’t tell me that…

DAR - He lost a lot of blood, and he wasn’t strong to begin with. He’d been bleeding from a shoulder wound for several days already, and his health… wasn’t great. You know that.

CARRIE - I just…

DAR - He made the choice to drive the President Elect out of that basement. He died doing what he knew was right. That’s as much as we could have hoped for him. I’m sorry.

CARRIE - Shit. 

Shit.

So what happens next?

DAR - Well, I don’t think you’ll be seeing much of me. They’ll catch up with me soon I’m sure, and I don’t suppose there’ll be a great deal of leniency shown.

_For a moment, she doesn’t know what to say._

CARRIE - Well. Good luck… I guess.

DAR - And to you.

_He hangs up. He’s sitting at a hospital bedside. In the bed – Quinn. Eyes closed._

_A nurse comes in._

NURSE - I’m sorry to interrupt you.

DAR - That’s OK. He’s sleeping.

NURSE - We’ve just been told he’s being transferred.

DAR - Oh?  _(Dar’s evidently not surprised – though the nurse doesn’t notice)_

NURSE - I’m not impressed. He’s not in good enough condition for this, but it’s arrived with a security embargo – we don’t even know where he’s going. I just have to get him ready. Would you excuse us?

DAR - Of course.

_He stands, reaches down and touches Quinn’s hand. Quinn opens his eyes a little, looks up at him._

Goodbye, Peter.

_Quinn watches, silently, as Dar leaves the room. The nurse steps forward to the bed._

—

_Six months later._

_A car speeds down an empty road. The driver takes a little-used turning, follows the road a few miles more through the woods, as it twists and turns. Eventually he pulls up behind a cabin, just where the trees give way to a sunny beach. Another, smaller cabin is visible through the trees. There are probably a few more, strewn down the coast, just a handful here and there._

_He gets out of the car. Takes a black holdall from the other seat, slings it over his shoulder. Walks, with a slight limp, around the side of the cabin to the beach._

_A woman is stretched out on a lounger reading a book; a young boy plays on the sand a short distance away. The man drops his bag and walks over to her. She stands as she sees him approach._

JULIA – Hey. You found it.

QUINN - I did. It’s beautiful.

_They regard each other for a moment. It’s been a while._

JULIA - How you doing?

_He nods, thoughtfully. Not gonna commit._

QUINN – You?

JULIA - I’m good. ( _She looks across to the boy_.) Johnny! Come here.

_The boy looks up, drops the toy plane he’s been playing with and walks across._

This is David. He’s a friend of mine. He’s going to stay in the little cabin for a while this summer, hang out with us. That OK?

_The boy looks up at him, squinting a little in the sun. The man looks familiar, even though the boy’s sure he’s never seen him before. Short dark hair, blue eyes. The man’s looking equally intently back._

JOHNNY - Sure.

JULIA - You can show him your fish traps in the creek.  _(To QUINN)_  We’ve had a little trouble making them work. Think you can help?

QUINN - Sure.

_She smiles._

JULIA – Well, you guys are as talkative as each other, this is gonna be a fun summer.

QUINN - I’m sorr-/

JULIA - /I’m kidding.  _(She nods at the bag)_ Let’s get you settled in.

_QUINN picks up the bag, follows Julia as she walks towards the little cabin._

_Johnny stays where he is. QUINN looks round, smiles gently at him._

QUINN - Wanna come?

_Johnny smiles back._

JOHNNY - Sure.

_He follows._

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Julia and Johnny hanging out at the back of the cabin, a small open area with a table and chairs that gives way to the beach._

_Quinn arrives, walking up the path from his cabin._

JULIA - Hey. You all sorted?

QUINN - Yeah. Not much to unpack.

_He's awkward. Not quite sure what to do with himself here._

JOHNNY - Mom, I'm bored.

JULIA - Well go play on the sand, you said you wanted to build sandcastles, tide's out, why don't you do that?

JOHNNY - Will you come?

JULIA - I'm not in much of a sandcastle mood, honey. You go, build me your best sandcastle and I'll come see.

_He sighs theatrically._

QUINN - I could...

JULIA - You wanna?

QUINN - Sure.

_Johnny's a little sceptical. He doesn't know this guy. But he's too polite to kick up a scene in front of a stranger. He walks over to a pile of beach toys, starts picking things up. Holds up a blue plastic shovel._

JOHNNY - You want this one?

QUINN - Thank you.

_He takes it. Oh Christ he's out of his comfort zone, what is he doing?_

JULIA - Here - take this - it's a long way down to the floor.

_She hands Quinn a small folding chair._

You carry the shovels, Johnny.

_They turn to walk to the beach and Quinn's stomach flips. Feels his breathing get shorter and quicker. Fuck fuck fuck fuck what is he doing? Wiring explosive devices was easy. Taking out a target with a silenced handgun and melting into the crowd, simple. But stepping out to play with his son for the first time, no back-up, is fucking terrifying._

_Wants to talk to him, make him laugh, but his mind is completely blank. Literally cannot remember a single word, and it's not just the aphasia. Certain Johnny's gonna find him boring, weird, awkward. This can't be it, right now, this moment, him and Johnny, first time ever. He's not ready, it's not right, another time... Looks back over his shoulder at Julia, thinks he'll change his mind, stay and talk to her, leave Johnny til another day. But Julia's turned away already, gone back into the cabin. He's on his own._

_They walk towards the water's edge. Johnny stops, sits down, starts digging without speaking, without looking up at Quinn. Quinn takes a look at the folded chair in his hand. Fuck. Can't even think in his anxious state how to open this thing with one hand. But getting down to sit on the floor is not easy for him now, and he doesn’t want to look strange in front of Johnny, not so soon after meeting him. Stares at the chair for a second. Johnny jumps up, grabs it, opens it._

JOHNNY - Like this.

QUINN - Th-thank you.

_He sits. Grabs a shovel. They both dig for a while in silence. Johnny fills a bucket, turns it upside down, pats it with the shovel, lifts the bucket - a perfect sandcastle._

QUINN - Hey. Th-that's great.

_Johnny smiles proudly, but no eye contact, says nothing._

_Quinn concentrates on his breathing. Fills up his bucket with sand. Hand's trembling. Turns the bucket over, pulls it away - and it all collapses._

_Johnny laughs. They glance at each other, both smile._

QUINN - I need to p-practice this. You're pretty good.

JOHNNY - I'll help you.

\---

_A little later. Julia sits in a chair outside the cabin, feet up. She’s half reading a book, but mostly watching, in sweet disbelief, at the scene unfolding down on the beach._

_Johnny and Quinn have built a ridiculously big fort together in the sand. Sandcastles, towers, walls, moats, flags made from seagull feathers, you name it. Quinn still sitting on the chair leaning down to the sand, Johnny scrambling about on all fours, a constant, chattering, excited commentary as he builds and shapes and creates his new world._

_Quinn has yet to make a sandcastle that hasn't crumbled. His once fine construction skills, honed on all those explosive devices, now cancelled out by his new motor challenges._

QUINN - OK, this one.

JOHNNY - You can’t do it!

QUINN - Just wait. This time…

JOHNNY - No way.

_He lifts the bucket. It’s perfect._

QUINN - Yes!

JOHNNY - Yay!

_Johnny applauds, runs over and holds his hand up and they high five._

That’s cool.

_He plucks a particularly fine feather out of one of his own sandcastles._

Here. You get the biggest flag.

_He puts it in the top of Quinn's castle._

_Julia checks her watch. Doesn’t want to break up the party, but it’s getting late._

JULIA - Johnny, c’mere!

_They both stand up. Both walk over. She points at the boy._

Sorry. I meant _this_ Johnny. Little Johnny.

JOHNNY - His name’s _David_ , not Johnny.

_Julia suddenly looks awkward. Jesus, she can’t keep up with this man’s names, she’s put her foot right in it._

_Quinn rescues her._

QUINN - David’s kind of my other name. Nickname. My real name’s Johnny.

JOHNNY - Same as mine?

QUINN - Yeah. We both got a cool name.

JOHNNY - I showed him how to make sandcastles. He wasn’t very good but now he can do it.

JULIA - Well, that’s amazing, good work you guys. Now go get your pyjamas on, Johnny, it’s nearly time for bed.

JOHNNY - Mommmm… we're having fun.

JULIA - Well you can have more fun tomorrow. Go on, don’t make me chase you.

_Dragging his feet a little, he walks off into the cabin. They watch him leave, then Julia turns back to Quinn._

JULIA - I’m sorry.

QUINN - It’s OK.

JULIA - I can’t think of you as David.

QUINN - I guess I’m Johnny, then.

JULIA - Do you mind?

QUINN - No. I like it.

_A pause._

JULIA - So who are you, officially? David? Peter? John? What?

QUINN - David Exley. On paper.

JULIA - Peter?

QUINN - Dead.

JULIA - Jesus.

_Shakes her head._

Your life…

QUINN - My ex-life.

_She looks round at the cabin, makes sure Johnny has gone._

JULIA - You know I don’t want any of that here.

QUINN - I know. Nor do I.

JULIA - Can you really leave it behind? I mean, new name, big deal. How many times have you said you’re leaving and ended up right back in there?

_He sits down. Thinks._

QUINN - It’s different, Jule. Look at me. I nearly died in Berlin. Dragged back in. Fucking shot, again. Don’t think I have any chances left. If I get hit again, I’m gone. I'm really out this time.

I’m meant to be dead. Totally new start. But if I’ve got a second chance - third chance - whatever - the only thing I wanna do with it is get to know Johnny.

Peter is dead. I promise. No more CIA.

JULIA - And how about your health? Are you good now?

_He shrugs._

QUINN - Mostly.

JULIA - OK. Well tell me if you need anything, right?

QUINN - Right.

JULIA - You wanna beer? You’ve been digging pretty hard out there.

_He grins._

QUINN - Sure. He's such a great kid.

_They walk back to the house and Johnny appears in his pyjamas, books in hand, and runs up to Quinn._

JOHNNY - Will you read my story?

QUINN - Sure, c’mon, show me.

_They walk into the cabin together, Johnny chattering ten to the dozen._

 


	3. Chapter 3

_Johnny and Quinn enter Quinn’s cabin. He reaches a cloth down from the top shelf in the kitchen, and places it on the kitchen table, unrolls it. Inside is a whittling knife and a few pieces of wood, one of them half-shaped into a fish. Johnny goes to grab the knife, Quinn stops him, places his hand over Johnny’s._

QUINN - Hey. Wait a minute. Show me your hands.

_Johnny does. They’re filthy, covered in mud and the sticky remnants of lunch._

OK, so go wash up first.

_Johnny goes into the bathroom. Calls through._

JOHNNY - You have LOTS of medicine.

QUINN - Yup.

_He comes out of the bathroom holding one of the pill pots._

JOHNNY - What’s this?

QUINN - Put it back.

JOHNNY - Tra-ma-dol?

QUINN - I said put it back.

_Johnny’s chastened. Puts the pill bottle back. Finishes washing his hands. Dries them and comes back to the table. Sits down and picks up whittling quietly, suddenly turned shy._

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.

JOHNNY - Are you sick?

_Quinn sighs. He doesn’t really want to have this conversation, but he doesn’t want to lie._

QUINN - I got sick. Before. That’s... why my hand doesn’t work. Why I walk this way.

_A pause. He decides to admit it out loud._

Why I don’t talk so good always.

_Blinks a little to himself. This is tough. But he’s determined to do it right._

I’m OK now. I mean - most days. I have some bad days. But I'm not getting sicker, just a little different than I was. The medication keeps me that way, so I don’t get worse.

Go bring them in.

The pills.

_Johnny goes to the bathroom. Calls –_

JOHNNY - All of them?

QUINN - Yup.

_Brings them in, puts them on the table._

JOHNNY - There’s loads.

QUINN - You never touch these unless I say so, OK? They’re not for kids, they’re dangerous if you’re not supposed to take them.

_Johnny nods._

_Quinn picks them up a bottle at a time, shows each bottle to Johnny in turn._

Tramadol. That’s for pain. Sometimes my arm hurts, or my back, or my leg. Down this side. Or my shoulders. This makes it better.

JOHNNY - Like Tylenol?

QUINN - Yep. But stronger.

Imitrex. For headaches. Bad headaches.

JOHNNY - Migraines?

QUINN - Yeah. Kinda. How d’you know about that?

JOHNNY - Grandma has them.

_Quinn nods._

QUINN - Nasty.

JOHNNY - Do you see lights?

_Quinn’s surprised how much he knows._

QUINN - I do.

Baclofen. Sometimes my muscles tighten up. In my arm and my leg. Like I’m screwing up my fist or something but I don’t want to. It hurts. So this stops it. But if I take too much my muscles go kinda floppy, so then I can’t walk properly either.

JOHNNY - You’re really screwed!

_Quinn laughs._

QUINN - Yeah, I am.

Primidone. I have to take these so I don’t have seizures.

JOHNNY - Eww.

QUINN - Yeah. That’s pretty bad. But if I take these it’s OK.

JOHNNY - What if you have a seizure?

_Quinn’s about to tell him that won’t happen, but he catches himself._

QUINN - I don’t think you’ll ever see me have a seizure. Because I take my meds. But if you do… if you can, roll me onto my front. If you can’t, don’t worry, just leave me where I am. Make sure there’s nothing near me that might hurt me. Then run and get your mom.

JOHNNY – OK.

_Johnny picks up the last one._

Bupo… Bupro…

_Quinn takes it from him._

QUINN - Buproprion.

_He looks a the bottle a while. Should he be honest about this one?_

Sometimes… sometimes I feel really sad. About all the things that happened… to my body. So sad I can’t do much. But this helps.

_Johnny sits quietly a short while._

JOHNNY - Don’t be sad. You’re at the beach.

_Quinn smiles._

QUINN - I’m not sad right now. Mostly I’m not. I like being here. With you.

JOHNNY - How do you know my mom?

_Quinn’s exhausted now._

_Sits back._

QUINN - Enough questions for one day. Wanna go put these back, and we’ll go show your mom your fish?

JOHNNY - Sure.


	4. Chapter 4

_Quinn lies in bed at the cabin. Staring at the ceiling. He reaches over and looks at the clock. Can’t take more Tramadol yet, it’s only been two hours. He lies back, a quiet moan between gritted teeth. Fuck, it’s bad today. Like someone’s shoving spears up through his hand and his foot, right into his arm and leg._

_He has to go piss but he doesn’t want to move. No choice. He rolls, slowly, to the edge of the bed, lowers his legs down as he pushes his torso up with his right hand. His left leg will hardly bend, stretches out in front of him. He stands with his right leg, grabs the bedside cabinet to steady himself. Standing straight, his right hand reaches across to cradle his left, try and soften the pain even a little._

_He limps, stiffly, one slow step at a time, to the door, through to the bathroom. Can’t decide which will be harder, to piss standing up or let himself sit down but then have to stand again after. He stands at the side of the toilet, steadies himself by learning on the cistern, relieves himself. Starts to walk back towards the bedroom. As he reaches the door, Julia comes in the door of the cabin. He looks at her groggily, leans against the bedroom door frame._

JULIA - Hey.

_She looks more closely at him._

You OK?

_He shakes his head._

QUINN - No.

JULIA - What is it?

_He blinks slowly. Doesn’t really want to talk. She walks towards him._

Gees, you look… rough. You didn’t have a seizure?

_Shakes his head._

QUINN - No. Just _(waves his right hand at his left side)_ … this.

JULIA - Pain?

_He nods._

Did you take pain relief?

QUINN - Yeah.

JULIA - How about the – what is it, the muscle relaxant, did you take that?

QUINN - Baclofen. No.

JULIA - Why don’t you take some? You look like you could use it.

QUINN - Can’t do anything then. Too weak, too tired. I can’t today. Said I’d take Johnny to town.

JULIA - Well. You can’t do anything like this, either, and you’re in a whole heap of pain. Johnny can go to town another day. Seriously. Take them. You can’t look after a child like this. I’ll hang out with him today, you guys can go tomorrow. Or whenever you’re better.

_She walks to him, puts a hand to his arm._

JULIA - C’mon, Johnny, get back to bed. He’ll be fine.

_She walks him in, helps him sit, gets him the muscle relaxants and a glass of water, which he knocks back._

Rest up, OK?

_She leaves._

_He lies back down. Stares, depressed, at the ceiling. Waits. Gradually feels the muscles loosening off a little, the pain drop down just a notch. But he also feels the muscle weakness and fatigue seep in, knows that now he’ll struggle even more to walk, to do anything much. Lies, miserable, for a long time. No idea how long._

_A quiet knock at the open door of the cabin._

_He’s not even sure he heard it. Squints into the light and sees Johnny appear, shyly, in the bedroom doorway._

JOHNNY - Hi.

QUINN - Hey.

JOHNNY - Mom said you’re sick.

QUINN - I’m sorry. I wanted to take you to town.

JOHNNY - That’s OK. We can go another day. She said to bring you a sandwich. It’s ham.

_He sets the plate down next to the bed._

QUINN - Thank you.

JOHNNY - I brought my new fish – look.

_He pulls out of the pocket of his shorts his whittling knife and a piece of wood that he’s started shaping. Quinn looks at it, as best he can through the haze._

QUINN - That’s very good.

JOHNNY - Can I sit and do it here? I won’t disturb you.

_Quinn smiles. He’s so pleased. There’s nothing he’d like better than the quiet company of this sweet boy today._

QUINN - Sure.

_Johnny sits on the floor, leans against the side of the bed, at the foot end. Sits and whittles quietly away, pulls out some sandpaper from his pocket and uses it occasionally to smooth down the fish._

_Quinn lies back, takes pleasure in listening to the sound of Johnny working, without having to strain or move his sore muscles. Occasionally looks down at Johnny, head bent over his work._

_The companionable quiet stretches out, his pain comes and goes in waves._

_He’s looking at the ceiling, concentrating on his breathing, when the quiet is broken by Johnny, who speaks without turning away from his fish._

JOHNNY - Are you my dad?

 


	5. Chapter 5

_Quinn pulls himself up onto his elbow. He pushes the pain away down out of mind with brute mental force - it's loud, but this is louder, the overwhelming urgency of this moment he's imagined so many times, in so many ways, taking his breath away with its sudden arrival._

QUINN - C'mere.

_He pats the side of the bed._

_Johnny looks up for just a moment, comes and sits. Goes back to sanding his fish, hyperalert under the skin but at surface level seemingly immersed in the movement of his hands._

_Quinn watches him for a moment, not sure until the words escape his mouth what he's going to say._

QUINN - Yes. Yes I am.

_Johnny swings round, eyes wide._

JOHNNY - Really?

_He can't believe it. Not that he can't believe it's true - he had wondered since Quinn arrived; always wondered - wished that - one day a strange man would show up and turn out to be his "real dad".  
_

_But what has really stunned him is that Quinn has answered him so straight. No couching with explanations and qualifications. Just a straightforward yes. He can't believe the honesty. This isn't how grown-ups talk._

_Quinn looks at Johnny's wide eyes and wonders for a second if he's done the wrong thing. But really, he knows he's right. He's never going to lie to this child. Not about this._

_He nods._

QUINN - Really.

_Johnny has an almost cartoon look of surprise._

JOHNNY - _Really_ , really?

QUINN - Yup. I am.

_He takes a deep breath. He always thought, if this moment ever came, it would be in considered, careful consultation with Julia; a long discussion about what to tell him, when; talk of what was appropriate for a child of his age to know; the pair of them sitting down solemnly together to divulge the news. But right now, this is right. This moment is for Quinn and Johnny alone._

QUINN - I... knew your mom. Way back. When she had you, we talked about what I should do. I had a very dangerous job. That's how I got hurt. I went to a lot of dangerous places around the world, and I wasn't at home a whole lot. We decided it wouldn't be good for a kid to have a dad with such a dangerous job, who wasn't around much. Pretty scary for a boy.

_Johnny stares at the floor, thinking._

JOHNNY - Do you still have to go to dangerous places?

QUINN - No, I don't. When I got hurt, I had to stop. So now I'm around.

JOHNNY - And you're really my dad?

_He nods._

QUINN - Yeah. I really am. Don’t you think we look alike?

_Johnny grins at him and nods. Looks back to his hands and his fish. Can't contain it, looks back and grins again._

QUINN - Is that OK?

JOHNNY - _(Emphatically)_ Yeah.

_Johnny reaches out a hand... not quite sure what he wants to do, except that he wants to touch him. Quinn extends his fingers and their hands rest together._

QUINN - Wanna come sit with me?

_He nods._

_Quinn manages to sit himself up a little more, shimmies to the side. Johnny gets up and sits alongside him, legs stretched down the bed. Quinn hesitates a moment, not sure how this goes - but lifts his right arm, puts it around Johnny's shoulder. Johnny settles back comfortably into it as if it were the most natural thing in the world, smiling, starts sanding the fish again._

\----

_Later. Julia comes to the door. Knocks. Approaches the bedroom. On the bed, Quinn is asleep. His arm is still round Johnny, who lies in the gap between his arm and his body, still whittling._

JULIA - Johnny...

JOHNNY - Shh! Dad's sleeping.

_Julia is stunned into silence. Johnny keeps sanding. Quinn still sleeps. What can she say? She stares. For a long time._

JOHNNY - Go away mom, we're fine.

_She nods. This is... not what she expected. But it seems to be fine. She'll deal with it later... whatever it turns out to be._

JULIA - OK. Well don't bother him, OK? If he wants to be alone, you come home.

_He nods._

_She pauses, watching... then steps away and leaves._

_Johnny can't contain a widening grin to himself. He doesn't want to move and disturb the sleeping Quinn, but his toes wiggle with delight. Mom didn't contradict him. This really is his dad. He rests his head on Quinn’s chest, puts down his fish, rests his hand there too, closes his eyes and snuggles in, a smile still on his lips. Quinn, awakened for a moment, looks down and is filled with joy at the sight of the little mop of hair on his chest. He leans down and kisses him on top of the head. Leans back on the pillow and they both drift off to sleep._


	6. Chapter 6

_Julia and Johnny’s cabin. Quinn sits in the kitchen. He’s struggling. Still in pain and full of meds, but knows he can’t duck out of this conversation. Spent the whole day in bed, but when Julia texted telling him to come to the cabin, he knew he’d have to pull himself together, drag himself over to go and face up to this._

_Julia comes in, from putting Johnny to bed._

_She closes the door. Turns to Quinn._

JULIA - So you decided to tell him, huh?

QUINN - I didn’t have a lot of choice. He asked me. 

_She raises her eyebrows._

QUINN - Seriously. He knew. He sat in my bedroom and said “Are you my dad?” No prompting.

JULIA - And you just told him. Without speaking to me. 

QUINN - I had about 10 seconds to decide what to say to him. And I decided not to lie.

JULIA - How the hell did you ever make it as a spy? You’re the most painfully honest man I have ever met.

_He shrugs. Rubs his face, too tired to argue._

QUINN - He seems OK.

JULIA - He does. Thankfully. He likes you.

QUINN - I like _him_. He’s amazing. You’re… a great mother.

JULIA - Thank you. And because I’m a great mother, I have to protect him.

QUINN - From what? _Me_?

_She gives him a look._

JULIA - When you took that decision to tell him, you made a commitment. You don’t get to duck out of this now.

QUINN - _I_ didn’t duck out of it before. You told me I wasn’t welcome.

_She breathes in to blast back… then decides not to engage in this. Breathes back out. Thinks._

JULIA - We don’t need to have that argument again. It’s done. What matters to me is what happens next. You cannot let him down. You are in his life now.

QUINN - I won’t. I promise. I’m going to be a father to him. Properly.

JULIA - How do I know you won’t go… swanning off?

_He rolls his eyes._ _Does he really have the strength for this? What the hell…_

QUINN - Swanning off? Look at me. Do I look like I can swan anywhere? Fuck it Julia, where would I go? I have nothing. I mean seriously, nothing. I have no job. No home. That bag I arrived with? My entire possessions. I can provide for him, I have money, but dollars aside, my life was totally empty until I pulled up at this cabin. Blank slate. David Exley didn’t even exist until I rented that car with his papers. I can do whatever the hell I want. And what I want, is to get to know my boy.

_He pauses to catch his breath. Exhausted. He softens._

QUINN - Look. I don’t wanna cause trouble for you. I know you’ve built a life for him. I’ll respect that. I’m not going to tear it down, come storming in and change everything. But I want to see him.

JULIA - So what, you’re moving to Philadelphia? Doing the school run? Little league coach?

_He looks at her…can’t help grinning._

QUINN - Yeah. That sounds amazing.

_She stares at him. Finds this hard to imagine._

JULIA - Well… let’s get through the rest of the summer first.

QUINN – OK.

_Pause._

I’m sorry. I know this probably wasn’t how you wanted this to happen.

JULIA – Well, no. But it’s done. You OK? 

QUINN – No. I feel like shit.

JULIA - I’m sorry to haul you over here.

QUINN - OK. I deserved it. Can I go?

JULIA - Sure.

_He gets up, stumbles a little._

JULIA – Want me to walk you back?

QUINN – No. I’ll be fine.

_He drags himself as far as the door. Holds the handle for a moment, gathers himself. Leaves._


	7. Chapter 7

_Two days later._

_He wakes suddenly. His breathing is erratic. He’s not sure if it’s panic or something physical. Both. He sits up, reaches to put the lamp on, his arm won’t do what he wants, it takes several attempts. The light finally comes on but the world is blurring, flashing, moving. Shit. He feels a spasm down his left side. No. Fuck._

_Reaches for his phone. His hand’s too weak to use it properly, puts it on the bed next to him, panic rising, tries hard to focus but everything’s blurred. Unlock. Stares at it until it sharpens for a moment, his breathing worse now, sudden and irregular and he feels the muscles in the back of his neck tighten. Fuck fuck fuck. Contacts. Julia. His arm tenses of its own accord for just a moment, he gasps, puts all his concentration into hitting call. Then speaker._

_His head swings back, and he drops onto the bed, overcome with weakness, feels like all the air is being wrung out of him. Manages to gasp one more full breath into his chest before it takes him over, and he drops over the invisible threshold into the place where all control is stripped from him, a terrifying, enforced surrender of the self. His torso shakes, his right hand twists up to his chest, fingers splayed, jabbing violently back and forth. The seizure battles for control with the spasticity that permanently inhabits the muscles on his left side, his left leg twisting hard and straight, toe down, cramp shooting up and no way he can stop it, his left arm shuddering at his side._

_Julia wakes to the phone ringing by her bed, reaches for it groggily, looks at it, confused, picks up._

JULIA - Johnny?

Johnny, you OK?

_She can hear something but can’t make out what._

Johnny? What is it? You’re scaring me.

_She suddenly wakes up properly._

Fuck. Johnny?

_She gets up._

It’s OK Johnny, I’m coming. I’m coming.

_Dashes out of her room. Looks in on the boy – fast asleep. Runs out and down the path leading to the small cabin. Shit it suddenly seems so long. Runs and runs._

_He feels his bladder release, but can’t think about it for more than a moment before his vision explodes in blinding lights that seem to fill his entire head with sickening violence. He feels like someone’s shoving a wet cloth into his mouth but he can’t clear it. Not sure if it’s his tongue, or saliva, or if he’s just imagining it, but whatever it is he can’t do anything, please fuck please come, Julia, don’t let me die here. The intensity of the light soars unbearably and he gives in, can’t hold onto reality any longer, lets the inevitable happen and his consciousness taper away in the face of this impossible onslaught. Just before he disappears, is aware of a voice, away over the horizon._

JULIA - Johnny? Fuck, Johnny…

_The lights go out for him just as she reaches his side._

Johnny, it’s OK, I’m here. I’m here. Listen I’m gonna roll you over, OK? Put you in recovery. It’s OK.

_There's a scraping, dragging noise coming from his throat. Her police training kicks in, she cuts through the panic and concentrates. It’s hard to get hold of him as he shakes, but she manages to grab his shoulder and hip, roll him towards her. Waits and listens for a moment. No change. Reaches over him and strikes hard between his shoulder blades with the heel of her hand. The force does it - the air in his lungs shoots forward and his airways clear out with a gurgling, gasping sound. Bubbles appear at his lips, and his breathing resumes. It’s ragged, juddering, but there's a small, rhythmic up-and-down of his ribcage, just about discernible once more amid the chaos of the convulsions. She allows herself a moment of intense relief. Pulls her phone from her pocket. Dials 911._

Ambulance.

\----

_She sits by him, stroking his head, whispering soothing words to him as he lies still, eyes half open, unfocussed._

_The sensations start trickling back a little at a time. A mish-mash of pain and exhaustion and a rattling, electrical confusion that permeates both his mind and body. He opens his mouth wider and tilts back his head to try and gasp some air into his aching chest, sees a shadow looming over him._

JULIA - Hey, Johnny. It’s OK. It’s OK, the ambulance is coming.

_He feels something by his hand and clutches it – Julia’s thigh. She places her hand over his._

It’s OK. I’m here. It’s over. It’s all over, you’re safe.

_He lies and breathes, lets the world, very gradually, return, until the itching deep in his bones become too much and he has to move, has to shake it off. He tries to sit up, feels instantly sick, but has to move, push against the sensations._

Lie down Johnny, it’s OK. Just lie down and rest.

_He feels a hand interfering with his attempts to shake off the crawling in his limbs, tries to swipe it away with a shout._

Hey. Lie down. Stay still, Johnny. Listen. It’s me, Julia. Lie down, _lie down_.

_He continues to try and swipe at her, but has no strength, can’t stay up, dizziness swirls in and he has to give in as she guides him back down to the bed. She hovers over him and he looks up at her, trying to focus on her eyes, filled with concern. Through the blur, feels a burning in his throat, soreness in his ribs, his back, pain from all his extremities making its way towards his brain. He realises - this was a bad one. This time no sitting up, no arguing, no talking to paramedics. Just holding on. Lies, on his back, mouth open, staring at the ceiling, listening to his own breathing, which sounds as if it’s coming from somewhere outside him. Julia strokes his hair gently, talking in comforting murmurs. He stays still, closes his eyes, and waits for something to happen._


	8. Chapter 8

_A hospital corridor, Julia hurrying along, searching. Stops a guy coming in the other direction._

JULIA - Hi. I’m looking for John Quinn. Ah… he might be booked in as David Exley.

DOCTOR - Oh, hi – I’m his doctor. Are you his…?

JULIA - Friend. He’s staying with me. How is he? I had to wait for someone to come and sit with my son.

DOCTOR - Well… he wants to come home.

_Julia’s face says it all. No way._

DOCTOR - Yeah. It’s not a good idea, he really needs to be monitored. His airway was blocked, right?

JULIA – Yeah. I don’t know how long. I mean, I think I got to him within, like, a minute. I dunno. Felt like forever, but probably a minute.

DOCTOR – Well you saved him, no doubt about that. But he’s at risk from pneumonia if he aspirated. And we need to get him an EEG - if this just came on out of the blue…

JULIA - Out of the blue? He’s been sick for days. He didn’t tell you that?

DOCTOR - Huh. No, actually. He didn’t.

JULIA - Jesus. Where is he?

_The doctor leads her through a nearby door, into an examination room where Quinn lies on a gurney, in a gown, looking rough. Pale and exhausted, he’s hooked up to cables, machines, tubes - saline drip, blood pressure cuff, pulse ox, an oxygen mask which he pulls down to his neck when he sees Julia._

JULIA - How you feeling?

_He shrugs._

JULIA - So, you need to tell the doctor what’s been going on.

_He looks down._

He’s been in pain for days. Full doses of Tramadol and Baclofen, not touching the pain. Not able to function. Peeing in a bottle because he can’t walk to the toilet.

_He looks suddenly up at her._

Yeah, I found it.

 _(To the doctor)_ Wouldn’t surprise me if he missed some doses of Primidone because he was too sick to remember, he wouldn’t let me sort his meds for him.

QUINN – _(slurring badly)_ This is not your b-business.

JULIA - Well, it is Johnny. It is _now_.

QUINN - I don’t wanna b-be here.

_She purses her lips. Turns to the doctor._

JULIA - Would you give us a moment?

DOCTOR - Sure.

_He leaves._

_She walks to Quinn’s side._

JULIA - I’m glad you’re OK. That was pretty scary, you stopped breathing.

_He doesn’t want to meet her eye. Hates that he needed her so desperately. Hates that she saw him so totally helpless.  
_

You can’t just check yourself out of hospital after that.

QUINN – I don’t want… _(gestures at all the equipment)_ all this sh-shit again.

JULIA - Johnny. This isn’t just about what you want any more. You remember that conversation we had, all of… what, two days ago? About you making a commitment to your son? Putting him first? This is it. This is what it feels like to be a parent. What you want comes _way_ down the list.

I have to look after Johnny, I can’t look after you too, in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with the nearest doctor 30 miles away and you throwing seizures in the middle of the night.

_He stares at the bed. No response. Her voice starts to rise in frustration._

I’m sorry. I know you’re sick, but you have to hear this.

I will _not_ have our son walking in on you collapsed on the floor. I cannot neglect him to look after you. And I am _not_ prepared for him to watch you neglect yourself. You want him to think that’s what being a man is about? Suffering alone in the dark because you can’t accept help? This is _not_ about you. You just gotta suck it up and get well.

Look at me.

_He looks up. Looks totally beat. Close to tears._

_(Gentler)_ I’m sorry. But you gotta put your son first, Johnny. This is where it starts. You wanna commit? This is it. Stay here and get well enough to be his father.

_He sniffs and gathers himself. Nods._

QUINN – _(softly)_ OK.

JULIA - You’ll stay?

QUINN - Yeah.

JULIA – _(She puts a hand on his)_ Thank you.

_She steps out to the corridor. The doctor is right outside._

He’ll stay.

DOCTOR - Good. I’m glad.

_He comes back into the room with her._

I’ll get the admissions paperwork sorted, we’ll get you up to a proper bed on the neuro ward, line you up with an EEG, keep an eye on you.

QUINN - OK.

_He pulls the oxygen mask back on. The elastic gets caught up as he does it, his hand clumsy, Julia reaches out and helps him, settles it into place. He rests his head back._

_She gives him a long look. Feels bad, but… not that bad. Places her hand over his again._

JULIA - I need to go back. The neighbours came over to stay with Johnny, I wanna be home before he wakes up.

QUINN - OK.

JULIA - I’ll call you later, see how you’re doing.

_He nods. Closes his eyes.  
_

_She steps out with the doctor, they pause in the corridor._

DOCTOR - Look - he’s having a tough time. This isn’t just a head cold, he’s living with a serious brain injury. It’s difficult, and it’s unpleasant, and it’s frightening, for him even more than you.

JULIA - I know. I’m sorry I shouted. It’s just… he scares me sometimes. Even before the stroke. What he can put up with. It’s more than the rest of us would even _try_ putting ourselves through. And it’s not something I want to expose my son to. That’s exactly the reason he wasn’t in our lives, and I _just_ let him back in. Like, a week ago. Now this.

DOCTOR - Well. We got the right result for today. We’ll take good care of him, get him back on the Primidone, stabilised, review all his meds, see what we can do for his pain.

JULIA - OK. Thank you.


	9. Chapter 9

_Quinn, sitting on a chair by his hospital bed, a bag on the bed._

_Julia and Johnny arrive at the open door of his room._

JOHNNY - There he is!

QUINN – Hey...

_Johnny runs in, full of excitement, but suddenly stops short of Quinn, not sure if he’s allowed to jump at him, grab him, hug him, not sure what him being sick really means._

QUINN – I missed you.

JOHNNY – Me too.

_Quinn reaches out and hugs him, kisses him, lets him go. Johnny grins._

JOHNNY - Are you better?

QUINN - Yeah. I think so. I feel better.

JULIA - Hey.

QUINN - Hey. Thanks for coming.

JULIA - No problem. You good to go?

QUINN - Yeah. Gotta sign off at the nurse’s station.

JULIA - Got all your meds?

QUINN - In here.

_Taps his bag._

JULIA - OK.

_He stands. Slings his bag over his shoulder. They all head out. Without even looking round, Johnny reaches up and takes Quinn’s hand. Quinn grins to himself._

\----

_Evening. Quinn sitting at the table outside the cabin, watching the sea. Julia comes out of the cabin with a glass of wine. Sits down with a sigh._

JULIA - Oh gees. I am beat.

QUINN - H-hard work. On your own.

JULIA - Ah, I’m used to it.

QUINN - Thank you for coming to get me.

JULIA - That’s OK.

QUINN – And... having me back. Here. After… _(he points over his shoulder, a little embarrassed)..._ that.

_She nods._

JULIA - Well, you listened, at least. Stayed in. You really feeling better?

QUINN - Yeah.

JULIA - They sort your meds?

_He doesn’t really want to talk about this, but he’s trying to do the right thing, be more open._

QUINN - Yeah. Gotta take p-painkillers every morning. Stop it before it starts.

JULIA - Good.

QUINN - And I gotta remember my Primidone. Try to.

JULIA - That’s as much as I can ask.

_A pause._

This really is a lifelong thing for you isn’t it? You’re not gonna just get better.

QUINN - Nope. Not gonna. Gotta keep on it.

_She rests a hand on his. He smiles sadly at her for a moment, a look of resignation._

_She lifts her hand back, picks up her wine, sips. They both look out at the sea a while._

QUINN - Jule.

You know what we talked about? Philadelphia?

_She’s a little surprised._

JULIA - You still thinking about it?

 _Nods_.

QUINN - I looked stuff up on my tablet. In the hospital. Time to kill.

JULIA - Right.

QUINN - Found an outpatient p-program. In Philadelphia. Aftercare. For s-stroke patients. Physio. And they do _(points at his head)._ This. Trauma. PTSD and stuff. Talking.

JULIA - Wow.

QUINN - I wrote.

JULIA - You did?

QUINN - I can go see them. See if they’ll take me. Set up a schedule. Take more care of myself.

I could… get an apartment. See you guys.

JULIA - Huh.

QUINN - If you want.

JULIA - I… Yeah, I guess. I mean…

_He’s a little chastened, hoped for more enthusiasm, this has been his big hope the past few long days, pulling himself back together in hospital._

JULIA - I’m sorry, I’m just surprised. I didn’t think you’d really want to. Especially after I let rip at you in the hospital.

QUINN - I d-do want to. If… if you’ll let me. I don’t… I don’t know a lot about kids. But I wanna know. I’ll try. I’m trying.

JULIA - OK. Well, can I think about it? This is a big deal.

_Nods._

QUINN - Sure.

_He tries, and fails, to hide his dejection._

QUINN - I’m gonna go to bed.

JULIA - Already?

QUINN - Long day.

_He gets up._

JULIA - Sure.

_She watches him go. Feels bad for him._

JULIA - Johnny?

_He looks round._

JULIA - I will think about it. I’m not saying no. I just… it’s out of the blue. All of this. I gotta be sure.

_Nods._

QUINN - OK.

_Turns and walks slowly away to his cabin._

\----

_Another day._

_Johnny sitting on the sand, digging. Julia tidying breakfast things at the table. Quinn approaches from his cabin._

JULIA - Hey. Sleep OK?

QUINN - Yeah. Kinda. I gotta walk round a little. I’m stiff.

JULIA - Take your painkillers and stuff?

QUINN - Yeah.

_He manages to say this without sounding irritated. A major achievement for him. He knows she’s got every right to ask.  
_

JULIA - Can I come with you?

QUINN - Sure.

_He starts walking down towards the water’s edge. Julia walks alongside him. Johnny looks up and sees them go but is absorbed in the hole he’s digging, stays put._

JULIA - Beautiful day.

QUINN - Yeah.

JULIA - So, I thought about it.

_He looks at her. Doesn’t want to say anything wrong, ruin it._

JULIA - OK. Let’s try.

QUINN - Really?

_His face lights up._

JULIA - I’m not making any promises. This is a trial. We keep talking. Anything I don’t like, you listen.

QUINN - Sure.

JULIA - Johnny has a babysitter. Picks him up from school, has him until I get home from work. Maybe once, twice a week, you can hang with them. Come to the house, I dunno, go to yours if you get somewhere with space.

I’m not having you on your own with him. Not yet. But Carmen’s good. She’ll help you, but she’ll give you space. If you wanna be with him, feel like it’s just the two of you, you can do that, but she’ll be there if you need her. We’ll see how that goes.

QUINN - That would be… amazing.

JULIA - But… I mean… how’s this all work? David, Johnny, Peter - isn’t someone gonna recognise you? Aren’t you supposed to be dead or something?

_He shrugs._

QUINN - I guess.

_He thinks._

I’ll risk it. I wanna be with Johnny. More than anything.

JULIA - OK. Well, one step at a time. We don’t tell Johnny until you’ve got eveything in place. Hospital schedule, apartment, you gotta have your own life set up before you take him on too.

_He suddenly grins really widely. Look around._

What?

QUINN - Fuck. This is real.

JULIA - You better believe it. I’m not messing around.

QUINN - Thank you. Thank you.

JULIA - OK.

_She looks back at Johnny._

He deserves to know you. Let’s not fuck this up.


	10. Chapter 10

_Two months later._

_He stands in the park, breeze blowing across his face, listens to the leaves rustling. Makes an effort to listen to the trees, instead of the sound of kids shouting and screaming, which is making his heart race. Takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. OK. OK._

JOHNNY - Dad, look!

QUINN - You’re doing great.

_Johnny’s almost at the top of the jungle gym. Quinn breathes._

\----

When he told Julia he’d start therapy, it was just so she’d let him see Johnny. Figured he’d do whatever it took. If that meant dealing with some of his shit from Berlin, so be it. He’d managed to dodge anything too searching with the therapists at the VA, figured he could do it again, go through the motions for a while until Julia trusted him.

But holy shit. His life is difficult now. Not on paper: Go to the hospital; the school; the store; drop Johnny at Julia’s. Rinse, repeat, in various different orders. But for him, it’s threat level 10. His panic attacks have suddenly got more frequent, and though he knows they have their roots in a Berlin gas chamber, it’s his ordinary, day-to-day life that sparks them.

He’ll be sitting in his apartment, look around him, and feel like he’s suddenly woken up in somebody else’s life, somebody else’s body and brain. From his stiff left side, to the detailed weekly schedule pinned to the wall, he looks around and finds himself totally at sea, dissociated, disorientated beyond belief. His breathing flicks instantly to shallow, fast, his ears ring, his head buzzes, grey clouds gather at the edge of his vision.

The first time it happened, the dizziness hit so fast that he woke up on the floor, had hyperventilated himself into passing out, just for a few moments.

Worse still, a few days later, after he’d struggled through another attack, he found himself, heart still pounding, phone in hand, about to call Dario. Tell him he was alive, wanted back in the group. Back to a world where he knew who he was, felt powerful and efficient. Thumb hovering over ‘call’, frantically working out how he’d persuade them to take him back. How he could possibly pass the physical. How he could get them to believe his brain was capable of leading a black ops team when his speech was so slow and slurred, when he had to set alarms on his phone just to remind himself to go to the store before the food ran out. Even though he _knew_ he could do it. Thought he could do it. Hoped he could do it. Realised as he tried to find ways round it all that he was dreaming. Couldn’t go back. But looked at the world around him and wasn’t sure he could stay here either.

He’d looked up at that moment and seen a picture in a frame, hanging on the wall - gift from Julia when he moved in. Johnny and him on the beach. Tanned and happy. Suddenly felt a confusing mass of emotions all at once: Shame at even thinking of shipping out. Relief at the sight of his beautiful, smiling boy. Totally overwhelmed at the idea that this was it now. No more short-notice secret flights away from whatever was too much to cope with in the real world.

But the therapy is kind of helping, it turns out. It’s not all talking about Berlin, or Caracas, or all of that terrible shit. There’s plenty of that, but his therapist is practical too. Teaches him how to get a hold of himself when the fear strikes. He can control the panic attacks a little better now, they’re milder, shorter, don't always obliterate him completely. If he’s lucky, he can even get through one with Johnny in the room without the boy noticing. Saves a lot of time locked in the bathroom.

But he still worries, still has to fight every day to hold it together. All those years he pitied normal people and their tedious, predictable lives. Turns out he’s never felt so seat-of-the-pants in his life.

He worries about Johnny. About himself. Whether he’s anything like the father he wants to be.

Looks across at his son, now swinging on the monkey bars. To the bench at the edge of the playpark, where Carmen sits. Still not trusted to do this alone. Fuck it. He knows he has to be patient. It’s been mostly fine so far. Wonders if he’s too strict. Won’t let Johnny have candy at his apartment, makes him do homework as soon as they get in. Wonders whether Johnny doesn’t like him as much, now the first flush of excitement has worn off and it’s not all sandcastles and holidays. But he’s trying to do it all right. Really, though, he has no fucking idea.

He tried googling parenting advice one day, but was so bewildered by the number of people arguing that he switched the tablet off before he could read more than a few paragraphs. Went to the library for the first time in his life to look for parenting books, but could only find books about babies. Nothing on what to do if you find yourself suddenly raising a 10-year-old after spending your life as an undercover assassin. Niche market, he guessed. Maybe he should write it.

But in many ways, the time he actually spends with Johnny is uncomplicated. The company, the sight, the sound, the touch of his son is what anchors him in this life, makes him completely certain that he’s in the right place. Mostly while they’re together he feels calm, worthwhile, focussed. But when Johnny goes back to Julia’s, the doubt seeps back in, the anxiety starts to step out from where it’s been lurking in the shadows. Left alone in a life he doesn’t recognise, he wonders who the hell he is, and how much longer he can stay.

\----

_He listens to the trees, breathes deeply. OK. OK._

_Sees another dad on the other side of the park playing soccer with his kids. Wonders if he could do that. Is pretty sure he couldn’t, not without losing his balance. Thinks he might buy a cheap ball some time and give it a go, though. Some time when Johnny and Carmen aren’t around. Just to find out._

_The alarm on his phone goes off. He pulls it out, switches it off. Walks over to Johnny._

QUINN - OK, buddy, we gotta go.

JOHNNY - Ohhhh.

QUINN - C’mon, we gotta eat before we go back to mom’s.

_Johnny drops from the bars, runs over and puts his hand in Quinn’s._

_They walk over to the bench._

JOHNNY - Carmen, did you see me on the monkey bars?

CARMEN - I did, you’re a proper little monkey.

_She gets up and walks with them. Johnny instantly runs off towards the park exit. Quinn shouts after him._

QUINN - Wait for us at the gates.

CARMEN - He never stops moving, that’s for sure.

QUINN - No. Never does.

CARMEN - No wonder he eats so much!

_He and Carmen walk in companionable silence a little way._

CARMEN - You’re doing all right, you know.

_He looks at her, surprised._

CARMEN - You’re doing all right.

QUINN - Thank you.

_He smiles._


	11. Chapter 11

_Philadelphia. A sweet suburban home. Not huge, but a small yard back and front, in a row of identical houses. Bikes strewn about the place. A family street._

_Quinn and Johnny arrive at the front door. Julia’s seen them coming up the path, the door’s open, she’s in the kitchen._

JULIA - Hi, honey.

JOHNNY - Hi mom. Can I have a snack?

_He goes straight to the fridge._

JULIA - What are you, starving?

QUINN - He just ate. 

JULIA - Just a little one.

_He grabs a snack, starts tucking in._

You guys have fun? She ruffles his hair, kisses him.

JOHNNY - Yeah.

JULIA – _(To Quinn)_ You got two minutes?

QUINN - Sure.

JULIA - Johnny, go play in your room. 

JOHNNY - Aw, mommmm…

JULIA - Go do it. I need to talk to Dad.

_Quinn tries to contain a small grin. It’s been a couple of months already but he still gets such a buzz when she calls him that. Johnny runs off upstairs._

Go OK?

QUINN - Yeah, fine. Carmen stayed til four thirty, she took off, we didn’t burn the apartment down without her. Had hot dogs.

JULIA - Good.

So, I thought you might like to know, the Greenspells are moving.

_He pretends to look interested, nods._

QUINN - Oh.

JULIA - Back near their daughter. See more of the grandkids.

QUINN - OK.

JULIA - So… their house is going up for sale.

_He looks at her. Still not sure if she’s saying what he thinks she might be…_

So…. I thought you might like to buy it. I mean, I don’t know how you’re fixed, for money.. but I thought I’d mention it.

_He’s bowled over._

QUINN - Oh. Wow. You mean _(points over his shoulder)_ live there? Next door?

JULIA - Yes. I mean live next door. To us.

QUINN - Wow. You sure?

JULIA - Well, only if you want to. If you can afford it. Be _great_ for Johnny. Take down the fence, he can come and go. We’d both have our own space.

QUINN - Sure.

JULIA - I’d be close by. In case, you know. You needed help. Just, seizures, or whatever.

QUINN - Yeah.

JULIA - What do you think?

QUINN - Yeah. Yeah. I’d like that.

JULIA - Good.

QUINN - Really. I’d really like that. I’ve got money.

JULIA - Awesome.

QUINN - Shall I go round there?

JULIA - Now? No! It’s not like buying candy. I’ll talk to them. It’s not on the market yet, so maybe you can get in first. Make it easy for everyone.

_He grins._

JULIA - No loud parties, mind.

QUINN - No. No loud parties. Great. It’d be great. 

JULIA - OK. Go kiss that son of yours goodbye, tell him he can come down here again. No telling him about this until we know.

QUINN - No. Sure. Thank you.

JULIA - No problem. You can cut my lawn forever to express your gratitude.


	12. Chapter 12

He closes the front door, walks into the living room and sits with a soft sigh - silence at last. Realises he’s a little shaky, hands trembling. Not a seizure coming, not a panic attack, but he’s tired, overwhelmed. Notices it a lot these days. Wonders if it’s maybe not even a new thing, just that he never paid attention to it before. Used to drink over it, or double down with his mind or body, harden up, push it away. Now, thanks to the persistent efforts of his therapist, he’s acutely aware of himself. Not just the panic attacks, but the embodied emotions that lead up to them. He no longer has the physical strength to push them away with brute force – 20 push ups to harden up and shift the script in his head no longer an option; and on the days he hasn’t had Johnny, or hospital, not enough going on to distract himself mentally. No choice but to notice everything about himself, and deal with it.

So he breathes deeply. And looks around. Three bags and one box, not yet unpacked. More belongings than he’s ever had in his life, weapons chests excepted. Not a huge amount of furniture yet, but enough. A sofa, couple of chairs. A table. Hanging on the wall, the huge banner Johnny made - a string of flags, each with a different letter on, spelling “Welcome home”. He gazes at it in wonderment. Thinks he’ll never take it down.

The evening sun slides in through the window, he can hear the kids shouting and laughing on their bikes in the street outside, Johnny probably one of them, even though Julia was trying to get him home for a bath when they left. Can’t believe they’re always going to be there now, just a few yards away. No more saying goodbye and driving across town to his silent apartment every night. He realises the shaking in his hands has stopped. 

Sits. Listens. Feels the sun. Is this what contentment feels like? He closes his eyes. Warmth, laughter, stillness.

And suddenly, for the first time in a long time, Carrie pops into his head. He’s blindingly angry for a moment. What the fuck? He’s allowed 10 whole seconds of peace before she interrupts him? But he looks around the room again, grounds himself. Warmth, laughter, stillness. Johnny’s banner. The kids outside. Breathes. Wonders why she popped up now. 

He realises – all of this, this version of him, this peaceful, contented man, is so utterly different from the man Carrie ever knew. And, it seems to him now, so different from the man she ever _wanted_ him to be, could have allowed him to be. For all her attempts at normal life, she was the one who always called him in an emergency, dragged him back in, trapped him in the darkness to keep her company there. He remembers, with astonishment, how he once thought – even told her in that damn letter – that she might have been his route _out_ of the dark.

He flinches at the memory. Hadn’t even occurred to him that she’d seen the letter, assumed it had gone in the trash the day he got back from Syria. But, snooping about the brownstone one day while she was at work, passing the time the only way he knew how, he’d found it in the drawer of her bedside cabinet. Sent him into a complete tailspin. The knowledge that she was party to this one-sided declaration of love and had never mentioned it… it made him acutely aware of the time he had missed. Time that the world was still turning while he was comatose, and then groping his way slowly, blindly, back towards comprehension and competency. A vulnerability, a sense of absence, of estrangement from himself, had edged open in him at that moment that was then flung wide the moment Dar told him about Carrie’s role in his stroke. The sense that everyone else knew more about him than he knew about himself, unbearable after so many years of being the best-informed man in any room.

And as he’d gazed at the letter, he’d also come face to face with himself before the stroke, before all this, before the mess he had become. It sparked so many ‘what-if?’s in his brain that he couldn’t even begin to think his way through them, had curled up on Carrie’s bed and lay there, eyes closed, rocking gently back and forth to try and soothe his way back into some kind of bearable numbness.

Carrie. Dar. All those people. Trapping him in their world, purely to suit their own ends. Telling him only what they wanted him to know. Making him the man they needed him to be. Suddenly it occurs to him, for the first time in his life, that maybe he wasn’t the one who was full of darkness. Maybe it was the people around him who just kept him there, and he knew no better. Had never had anyone really there just for _him_ , to help him work out who _he_ was, what _he_ wanted.

He realises he has his hand over his heart, stroking his chest gently. Another of the moves his therapist has taught him. Part of the self-compassion shtick: Think about how much you love someone else. Hand on heart, really feel it. He’d thought of Johnny. Then turn that love on yourself, she’d said. He thought it was ridiculous when he first heard it, but he did it as instructed, in the new spirit of compliance that Julia, and fatherhood, had brought upon him. And once or twice recently, he had caught himself, having placed his hand on his heart without even noticing. At times when his heart was aching, sensitive, tender. Calming himself enough to feel his way through obstacles rather than bolt from them.

What was I just thinking about? He wonders. What made me do that? He rewinds.

That I never had anyone to teach me who I really was. Never had anyone. And a hole lurches open beneath him. Something he’s been keeping at arm’s length. That’s been nudging at him ever since fatherhood arrived on the scene. Queuing up to be dealt with now that everything else in his life is going so smoothly.

He chews at his thumbnail for a moment, then reaches for his tablet, taps in a search. 

Baltimore Children’s Services.


	13. Chapter 13

Dear Johnny

I have just heard from Baltimore Children's Services that you have registered with them, with a view to contacting me - that you are my son, and I am your birth mother. I have waited 40 years for this day, and I want to respond in a way that tells you of my utter joy, without scaring you off, or overwhelming you.

I am bowled over with delight and trepidation, and I expect you perhaps feel the same. I would love to be in contact with you, and perhaps meet you, if you would like that too.

I also want you to know right away that I never wanted to give you up, and I have always thought of you, every single day since we were separated. I was very young - only just 15 - when I became pregnant, and my family were very devout Roman Catholics. Your father was considerably older than me, and certainly not interested in having a family with a teenager - I’m sorry to say I wouldn’t know how to find him now if you wanted to contact him. He didn’t stay in my life for long.

The idea of me being an underage single mother was simply an impossibility to my family, and I was presented with no choice but to give you up. I have always hoped it was for the best for you, that you have had a wonderful life and a loving family, and been happy.

I am now 55, married with two adult daughters. I am an office administrator, still living in Baltimore and apart from the sorrow of losing you, my life has been uneventful and happy.

I enclose a photograph of myself with my husband Richard, and our daughters, Jackie and Jade. They all know about you, although I don't talk about it often - your birth was something I always kept close to my heart, rather than on my sleeve.

I do look forward to hearing from you

Helen

\---- 

_Julia taps on the front door, pushes, it’s open. She listens, heart in her throat. He texted her asking her if she had five minutes to come over. Not the way he’d raise her if he was about to have a seizure, but something’s not right._

JULIA - Johnny?

_She walks into the living room. Sees Quinn, distraught and in tears, a letter in his hand._

Johnny, what is it?

QUINN - I heard from her. 

JULIA - Is that from her? Your mom? 

_He nods._

That's great, isn't it? Isn't that what you wanted?

_He hands her the letter. She reads it._

Well that's lovely. She sounds like a really nice woman, she wants to meet you, what is it? 

QUINN - Me.

JULIA - What do you mean?

QUINN - How do I tell her?

JULIA - I don't... you're going to have to explain to me Johnny, what's upsetting you? 

QUINN - She spent 40 years thinking she gave me away to a loving family, I had a beautiful life. What do I say? "I spent my life in care, ended up on the streets, killed people for money, got gassed and shot, made me brain damaged." How do I tell her that? I can't meet her. I’m gonna be such a fucking disappointment to her. _(Sobbing)_ She'll hate me. I shouldn’t have done this.

JULIA - Johnny. Stop this. Stop. The life you had was not your fault. She will NOT be disappointed in you. You're a good man, you're not a criminal, or a drug addict - which is a fucking miracle given the start you had in life. You're a fucking war hero.

QUINN - I'm a mess.

JULIA - So what, you just don't write back? Do you think that would be better for her? She writes you one letter and you never respond? She needs to hear from you, Johnny. You don't have to give her your whole life story right away. Just tell her you got her letter. Tell her something. Anything.

 _She sits._                                             

Listen. I know you never learned about families. So here's something you need to know about them. They don't judge you. They don't think the worst of you. They actually want the best for you, and even if things are shit, that doesn't mean they don't want to hear from you. This poor woman is sitting on tenterhooks waiting to hear from you. She's already waited 40 years, don't give her a flash of hope and then make her wait the rest of her life.

You don't have to tell her everything at once. Just take your time. Be honest. Trust her.


	14. Chapter 14

Dear Helen

Thank you for your letter. You're right that it is overwhelming to hear from you and know that you are my mother. Wonderful, but overwhelming.

My life has been complicated. To be honest, I have put off writing back to you because I'm afraid it might break your heart to know what happened after you gave me up. But a good friend persuaded me that it would be worse for you to never hear from me than to hear the truth, so here goes. I was never adopted, and spent my childhood in and out of a series of foster homes. It probably wasn't the life you were dreaming of for me. But I survived, and I guess, to be very honest, that's the best I can say about it.

I found a purpose after that, though. I was a soldier, doing a very specialised kind of work. I was very good at it, but it led my life into some strange and difficult avenues that can be hard to explain to people who have led a life as normal as yours. I don't know how to explain it all to you, but I'll think about it, and some time I will try.

I am going to get someone to take a photo of me to put in with this letter so you can see what I look like. I'll be holding your letter in the photo, because I want you to know that it is really me. That sounds strange, but when you see the photo, you might understand why. I was in the news a few times because of my work, and some things that happened to me, so my face was recognisable for a while by a lot of people. If I just sent you my photo, you might think that I’m just crazy and I got it from the internet or something, that I'm stringing you a line and pretending to be someone I’m not. So I want you to know that it is really me.

You’re probably already confused, probably already think I'm crazy, so I'll stop now.

I'm very glad to be in touch with you.

Johnny.

PS – I’ve had a lot of different names over the years. But these days, the people I’m closest to call me Johnny again. So the name you gave me 40 years ago is back. I like it.

PPS – My friend said I should email you and it would be quicker. But I like writing letters. They give me time to think. I hope that’s OK.

\----

Dear Johnny

What a beautiful young man you are. I have been looking at your photo all day. You look so incredibly like my late father, and he was a very handsome man.

I am so glad you are writing to me by hand. I agree that a letter gives time for contemplation, and to see your handwriting and know you held that piece of paper, that envelope, is a lovely thing.

You're right of course, I was terribly sad when I read how hard your childhood was. It had honestly never occurred to me that you weren't adopted straight into a loving family. It will take me some time to come to terms with it. But I am so glad your friend persuaded you to write and tell me. To hear from you, and see your face, has been so profound and life-changing that it outweighs even my deep sadness at hearing what happened to you.

I am so sad, mostly, for you, that you have suffered so much. And deeply moved that you went beyond that to find a fulfilling purpose in life.

I'll await your explanation of the rest. Take your time. I don't want to push you or make you feel uncomfortable. Just tell me what you can, and I'll be glad to hear it.

I wonder what else I could tell you about yourself – about us – that might be of interest? There’s so very little, sadly - we were together for such a short time. Three days we had before they took you, which were at once the longest and the shortest three days of my life. When my parents discovered I was pregnant, it was as if the roof had fallen in on me. They were good people – though very traditional - and I loved them, and the weight of their disappointment was crushing. I asked if I could keep you, but they told me they knew best. I trusted them and believed that what they said must be right, so in the end I went along with their plans. I was so young, and so green, and so dependent on them.

I went off to live for some time in a home full of young women like myself, and that’s where you were born.

I can picture you now, the moment they put you in my arms. Your eyes were so green, and you had a mop of dark hair already. You were so utterly loved in that moment. And for the following three days that we spent together. I remember every minute. I would gaze at you for hours, trying to remember you as hard as I could, your tiny fingers and toes, your little chest, barely wider than my hand, rising and falling as you slept. I have no photographs of you – it was thought that would make it harder for us to “get over” it all. As if we ever would. But I have held you so clearly in my mind since that day, that really, a photograph would be a pale substitute for my memories, which include the way you felt, the way you smelled, and sounded - everything about you.

I could tell you about the day they took you away, I suppose, but you can imagine. It was awful, and there’s little to say about it that would help either of us.

So I’ll sign off instead by telling you the most important thing once again - you were born into arms full of love and care. You were cherished.

Love, 

Helen

\----

Dear Helen

Thank you for your letter. I’ve read it more times already than I can count. Trying to imagine that I was ‘born into loving arms’ is very strange for me. It feels like a fairy tale rather than something that really happened. I’ve always felt like I came out of nowhere. But I keep turning it all over in my mind, and each time I do, it feels a little more real than before. So I hope soon it will start to feel true, and a part of me.

After I told you that I was never adopted, I was so scared that I would be a disappointment to you, I can’t really believe you wrote back. To be honest, I’m still scared that you’ll feel that way when you find out more about me, but I have thought a lot, and I have decided to just tell you what I can about myself, and then it’s up to you to decide. 

Thing is, when I tell you about my life, it will probably sound like I’m making it up. But you can check pretty easily that I’m not, especially now you have my photo.

Like I said, my face was in the news a lot for a while. Look me up online with the name I used to use, Peter Quinn, and you'll probably read more than you even want to know about my life and what happened to me.

But I find that hard to think about, all those people knowing, and it's easier for me if I assume you don't know anything about me and tell you in my own words.

I told you I was a soldier, and that’s true, but I worked for the CIA. I worked in some dark and difficult places, and I did some things I'm not proud of. And, I guess, also some things I'm very proud of. I think, on balance, I made the world a safer place. Though sometimes I lie awake at night wondering.

Things went badly wrong for me though. I don't even know how to write about this. Some people hurt me, badly. Tortured me and left me for dead. I was shut in a gas chamber and exposed to sarin gas. I survived. But I am disabled. I had a stroke in hospital after, and now I walk pretty badly, I can't use my left arm and I have aphasia and apraxia - can't remember words and I talk so slowly and slur, sometimes I just sound stupid even when I know what I want to say (I won't tell you how long it has taken me to write these letters. My friend has helped me a lot).

Then, when I was in New York recovering, I was caught up in the attempt on the President's life, and I was hurt again. You probably read about that, too. It was pretty bad.

Here's the thing. Most people don't know that I survived that. My old life was hard, and dangerous. By the time I ended up in hospital yet again, covered in bandages and full of morphine, I was pretty much at the end of my rope, physically and mentally. So a friend in the CIA, who wanted me to be safe, arranged for me to 'die' and leave that life for good. I was treated under another name and came out of hospital after the shooting as a new man. In many ways.

You see why I said it sounds like I made it up. If you saw the news, I guess you know it's all true. But I often can’t even really believe it myself.

These days I don't tell people about what happened to me, or who I was, because I left that life behind. People don’t seem to recognise me any more. I guess I’m old news, and they’re not expecting to see me, and I try to keep to myself.

But I wanted you to know the truth, after waiting for it all this time.

There's other stuff, too, that I mostly keep to myself. But now I've started to tell you my secrets, I guess I might as well get it all out of the way. If it all sounds too horrific, you can cancel all this, pretend you never wrote to me, and go back to your normal life. I won’t blame you. But here goes: I have PTSD that tears me apart sometimes. Gives me nightmares where I wake up screaming and don't know where I am. They're so real, I think it's all happening again and that I'm dying.

I have seizures too, from the brain damage that was caused by the stroke. Not so often now as when I was first sick, I take medication and it works OK, but sometimes they still happen.

I'm a real mess, to be honest. I wish we had found each other before all this happened to me, and you could have met me then. Some day I'll send you a picture of me before it all happened. I was different then, and more handsome.

But people say I talk more since my stroke. That I'm more open. So maybe it's better that we have found each other now, even if I do limp, and stutter, and get frightened of stuff that's not even there.

And in truth, I guess the old me would never have even thought about contacting you. There must be a reason I signed up to the register now, and not years ago, and maybe it has to do with the stroke, and the fact I'm a different man now, with a different life. Maybe me nearly dying made me realise we don't have as long as we think we do, to do the important stuff.

But I’ve saved the best til last. There is another, happier reason that I looked you up now. I have a son. I guess that means he’s your grandson. He's called Johnny too, he's 10, and he's incredible. I've never really been in his life before. His mother Julia is a good mom and knew that having a paramilitary for a father was not a good thing for a little boy.

But since I left the CIA she let me back into his life, and now I'm learning to be a father. It's amazing, and confusing, and frightening and beautiful. Every single day I find myself thinking about families, and parents, and children, and all the things I don't know. So I guess it was inevitable I would look you up.

Here's another confession before I go - I honestly expected to find out something terrible about my origins - drug abuse, crime, a chaotic, miserable life. Probably, if I’m honest, that you were long dead. Every question I ever ask, the answer is always the worst answer you could hope to hear. So I was ready. And to find out that you are alive, and stable, and happy, and interested to meet me, has kind of thrown me a bit. In a good way.

Everything that's happened to me - being gassed, waking up half-paralysed, unable to talk, not sure who I was any more - has been awful. I still struggle every day. But if it wasn't for all that happening, I probably wouldn't be writing to you, and I wouldn't be learning to be a father to Johnny. It's funny how things turn out.

 Johnny


	15. Chapter 15

Dear Johnny

What can I say about your heartbreaking letter? I cried as I read it - it took me a long time to get through it, to even try to comprehend everything that you wrote. I know that you're telling me the truth. 

I suppose I had seen some of the news stories you mentioned, but they hadn’t come to mind at all when I saw the photo you sent me – I was just so busy looking at you.

So I haven’t gone back and raked through them, all those stories. I choose to know about you only what you have to felt able to tell me. I am so moved and grateful that you have told me all that you did.

I hold onto the fact that you were so, so brave, and did so much good in the world (I don't doubt that you did). The fact you have felt so much pain and fear - and that you still feel both those things so often - makes me feel very tearful for you. But I remind myself that now you are safe, and with your son, and that we are in contact. Those things diminish a little my enormous sorrow, and my guilt that I was not able to protect you from the worst evil that the world has to offer.

I don't know what else to write, because words are so inadequate. To be very honest, I want to meet you, and hold you. I know I can't step into the role of your mother after all these years, and I try to temper my expectations of our meeting, because you owe me nothing. But to see your face, and hear your voice, and be with you, would mean more than I can express. Do you want to meet? Are you ready?

If not I will understand completely. This is difficult. I just want you to know that I would be open to meeting any time that you feel able.

Love,

Helen

\----

_Julia pulls up in a parking lot, next to a large park. Quinn is in the passenger seat. His jaw is clenched, his head swaying rhymically a little – a stress tic Julia has noticed a few times since all this started. He’s pale, his eyes a little glazed._

JULIA - How you doing?

_He shrugs._

_She takes his hand._

Johnny.

_He looks at her._

You’re gonna be OK. She knows it all. She’s a kind woman, and she wants to meet you. You can do it.

_He looks down. Opens the car door. Gets out and walks slowly across the parking lot._

_Steps onto the path leading into the park. On a seat about 100 yards ahead of him, overlooking a large pond, he can see a woman sitting alone. He tries to remember the breathing exercises his therapist gave him, but can’t stop his head spinning._

_Suddenly feels very self-conscious, tries to suppress his limp and walk as normally as he can. He can do it for a short period of time before his left side cramps up – mostly does it around Johnny’s friends, trying not to embarrass him by being any more of a fucking cripple than he has to be – but he soon realises he can’t keep it up, gives in, and his usual, uneven gait takes over once more._

_About 20 feet away from her, he forgets himself, and can only see her. At the same time, she looks around and sees him. He doesn’t remember the final steps, only the sight of her as she rises and moves towards him, her eyes lighting up and emotion flooding her face. Her arms raise as she moves towards him, reach out to enfold him completely. He wraps his arm round her, and buries his face in her shoulder, feeling her shake with tears, wishing he could lift his left arm from his side to hug her completely, but holding her to him, lost in the physical sensation, two words circling repeatedly in his head out of nowhere “My mom. My mom. My mom. My mom.” They break away and look at each other, both flushed with tears, smiling and laughing and unable to speak, scanning each others faces in disbelief. They hug again, pull away and look at each other again, for longer, this time._

HELEN - Oh, goodness. You really are like my father.

_She laughs, he smiles, struggles to speak._

QUINN -  Issss-‘at good?

_She places a hand gently to his cheek, gazes at him and nods._

HELEN - Yes, darling. It is.

_He shuffles slightly to get his balance, and she notices._

Let’s sit down.

_Holding hands, they walk together to the bench._


	16. Chapter 16

_They sit. Gaze at one another in amazement._

HELEN - I can’t actually believe it’s you.

QUINN - I… never… I…

_He gestures to try and fill in the gaps where the words should be, a kind of shrug, an upturned palm to show bewilderment._

I… never… thought I’d see you.

HELEN - You thought I’d gone.

_He nods._

QUINN - I did. B-B-But you’re here.

_Tears spill over and he suddenly finds himself properly crying. Forty years of holding onto himself, of coping alone, suddenly crack open in an instant and he crumples, sobs and shudders._

HELEN - Oh _Johnny_.

_She wraps her arms around him, pulls him to her and holds him. Kisses the top of his head, rests her cheek there, gently strokes his back, rocks a little. A mother, comforting her son. Who knows how long they sit there? Time stands still for both of them, aware only of the very present, a river of emotion and sensation they are immersed in together. Very slowly, the shuddering calms, leaving just the sobbing and sniffing. Then, at length, that subsides too. He sits up. They look at each other._

QUINN - I’m sorry.

HELEN - Don’t be. Do you know how long I’ve waited to do that?

_He smiles sadly. Searches in his pocket for something to wipe his face with, is fumbling and finding nothing so she opens her purse, pulls out a tissue and hands it to him. He cleans up a little. Exhales._

HELEN - Big day.

QUINN - Yeah.

HELEN - It’s funny, my husband asked if you looked the way I expected you to. When you sent me your photograph. I couldn’t answer him. I’ve spent 40 years trying to picture your face, and as soon as I saw you for real, I couldn’t remember how any of those imaginary faces looked. It was like I’d always known you.

QUINN - Because I look like your dad?

HELEN - I don’t think so. You just feel so familiar. It’s OK. You don’t have to say the same back to me. I guess if you thought I was dead, you probably never tried to picture me?

QUINN - Tried not to. I’m sorry.

HELEN - Was there anyone? A mother figure, father figure looking out for you?

_He thinks. Thinks of Dar._

QUINN - No. I looked out for myself.

HELEN - Well, I guess it made you very resourceful. Very strong. To do the work you did.

QUINN - Yeah. I _was_ strong. Not now.

_He lifts his left hand a little and lets it go, it drops like a dead weight into his lap._

Not much anything now.

HELEN - Don’t say that. You’re _so_ much. Johnny, please don’t say that. And you’re a father!

QUINN - Yeah. Yeah, I am.

HELEN - Do you have a picture?

QUINN - Yeah.

_He pulls out his phone._

QUINN - He’s… he’s… great. Looks like me.

HELEN - Those male genes are strong, I guess.

QUINN - Here.

_He hands her the phone._

HELEN - Oh! Goodness. He does look like you. What a beautiful child. He’s ten, did you say?

QUINN – Yeah, ten.

HELEN - It must be a challenge, becoming a father out of the blue.

QUINN - Yeah. But he’s…. amazing. And his mom is pretty cool. She helped me write to you. She brought me here.

You have other grandkids?

HELEN - None yet. Jackie just turned 30, she’s engaged, so you never know. Jade is 27, she’s a doctor, she’s working in India right now. She’s the adventurous one of the family. They’re wonderful girls.

You must have travelled a lot?

QUINN - Yeah. Afghanistan. Pakistan. Syria. Not quite the tourist spots.

HELEN - Where did you get hurt? Do you mind me asking?

_He looks down, away from her._

QUINN - No, it’s OK. Berlin.

_She looks surprised._

Yeah. Survived Syria, nearly died in Berlin.

HELEN - I do remember now. Berlin. In the news. I’m so incredibly glad you didn’t. Die there.

_He goes to say something, his brow furrows. He looks at her for a long time, clearly wanting to speak, trying to pull together the thought, wondering not just whether he **can** say this, but also whether he **should**.  
_

What is it?

QUINN - I wasn’t. For a long time. Glad about surviving. Wished… I’d gone.

HELEN - You’ve had a lot of pain to deal with.

QUINN - But not now. Even like this. Like I am. I want to be here.

_She smiles at him. Sighs. Looks out at the pond._

HELEN - Life’s tough, isn’t it?

_He looks at the water too._

QUINN - Yeah.

_She places her hand over his. They sit a while. Eventually…_

HELEN - Do you work now, at all?

_He looks down._

QUINN - No. I… I… don’t. It’s hard. This _(touches his left hand)_ and this _(points at his head)._ I don’t always… think right. Get tired, confused. Forget stuff.

HELEN - Of course.

QUINN - I go to the hospital. Two days a week. Outpatient program.

HELEN - That’s good – is it helping?

QUINN - Physio – kind of. Not getting better, this is it. But it hurts, muscles get tight, so they massage, stretch and stuff. Injections if it’s bad. It helps. Less pain.

HELEN - Good.

QUINN - And I talk. Therapy.

HELEN - That’s important.

QUINN - I didn’t think so. To begin with. Just went because Julia made me. Johnny’s mom. But actually…

HELEN - It helps?

QUINN - I think it does.

HELEN - It’s tough, though.

QUINN - Very.

HELEN - Well, it’s a full time job, just staying well. When you’ve been through so much.

QUINN - I look after Johnny too. Julia’s a police officer, she works long hours. So I get him from school. We hang out.

HELEN - Oh, how lovely. Bet that tires you out.

QUINN - He’s pretty good. I used to do it with his babysitter. Because I forget, you know. And had no idea about kids. But now I’m a little better. I have a lot of lists, reminders on my phone, Julia helps me plan. Now we just do it ourselves, me and him.

HELEN - I bet you’re a good team. Do you live close to them?

_He grins._

QUINN - Next door.

HELEN - Really?

QUINN - Just moved in.

HELEN - Oh, that’s great. I bet he loves that.

QUINN - Yeah. Me too. I can sit in my house and hear him playing outside. Best medicine. If I’m not well.

_She smiles at him._

HELEN - You’ve built a very good life for yourself. Out of some pretty despairing circumstances.

_He thinks._

QUINN - Yeah. I think I have. Julia’s helped me. A lot.

HELEN - She sounds great.

QUINN - Yeah.

HELEN - Would you like to take a walk? It’s chilly.

_A pause. He's suddenly awkward._

HELEN - Oh, I’m sorry.

QUINN - No, it’s OK. I’m just slow.

HELEN - Well, that’s fine by me. No hurry. Just as long as it won’t hurt you.

_He points at a bench part way round the pond. Not far, but far enough._

QUINN - We could walk there. Warm up. Different view.

HELEN - Perfect.

_She stands, he stands more slowly, gets his balance, they begin to walk._


	17. Chapter 17

_Johnny’s bedroom. Quinn, sitting stretched out on the bed with him. Just a bedside lamp on, the curtains closed. Johnny in pyjamas, snuggled into Quinn’s side as they read together._

_Quinn reads aloud the same way he speaks these days – slowly, carefully, a little slurred. Sometimes, even though he knows the words he’s looking at, he can’t get them out. Johnny fills them in seamlessly and Quinn repeats after him, then carries on. Between them they move through the pages. A quiet, calm, peaceful time, soft, warm, sleepy and loving._

_They reach the end of the chapter. Quinn closes the book and looks down at Johnny._

QUINN - OK. Time to go sleep.

_No arguments. Johnny’s tired, and happy. He wriggles down under the covers and smiles up at Quinn._

You had a good day, buddy?

JOHNNY - Yeah.

_He runs his fingers over Johnny’s hair._

QUINN - You know I love you, right?

JOHNNY - Yeah. Love you, Dad.

_Quinn eases himself off the bed, leans down and kisses Johnny. Johnny bobs up and kisses him back._

QUINN - Sleep well.

_He switches off the lamp, leaves the room, pulls the door gently closed behind him. Walks slowly down the stairs. Julia’s in the kitchen folding laundry._

JULIA - He OK?

_He smiles._

QUINN - Yeah. Great.

JULIA - _You_ OK? You look tired.

QUINN - I’m fine. Tired. OK.

JULIA - You wanna coffee? I got some made.

QUINN - Sure. Thanks.

_He sits on a stool, she pours him a coffee, places it in front of him, goes back to folding clothes as he drinks. She watches him as he stares into his cup, not wanting to bother him with chat if he’s too weary. Eventually…_

QUINN - Jule.

JULIA - Yeah?

QUINN - Thank you.

JULIA - What for?

QUINN - Everything.

JULIA - With Helen?

QUINN - Not just that. I mean yeah, that, but everything. Letting me see Johnny. Making me go to the doctor. The house. Helping me… all the stuff I can’t get straight.

You made my life right.

_She comes across, sits down facing him. Smiles._

JULIA - Well. You didn’t make it easy at first. But you do now. You’re pretty easy to help these days. I know it’s been tough. Settling down. But it’s working, right? It’s OK?

QUINN – It’s… Yeah. I can’t really believe it.

JULIA – How’s it going with Helen?

QUINN – Good. I call her. Saturdays. We said weekly. I keep thinking of things to tell her.

JULIA – So call her more than weekly.

QUINN – No. No, we said weekly.

JULIA – Oh Jesus, Johnny, you’d make her day. Just call her out of the blue and say you were thinking of her and wanted to say hi.

_He thinks. Nods thoughtfully._

QUINN - I guess I could.

JULIA – You could and you should. You know, you’re not a secret any more. You don’t have to slink around in the shadows like Peter Quinn did. You have to get used to the idea that people actually like knowing you're around. I mean, Johnny _loves_ having you here.

And I do. Actually.

_He grins._

And I’m saving a fucking fortune on childcare, so there’s that.

_She grins back._

_They look at each other, a little longer than they usually would. She tilts her head a little. She leans forward, kisses him on the cheek. They pause. Look at each other. Half awkward, half tender. Kiss again, on the lips, she winds her fingers gently into his. She sits down again, still holding hands. A moment. They both smile, a small laugh._

_He raises his eyebrows._

QUINN - Wow.

JULIA - Is that OK?

QUINN - Yeah. I just… I didn’t…

JULIA - I know. I… I don’t want to confuse you, or hurt you, or make things difficult. But…

QUINN - It’s OK. It’s good. I didn’t think you’d want to. I’m not much of a catch. Not now.

JULIA - You kidding me? You’re more of a catch now than last time I caught you. You have a steady life, a home, you take care of yourself, you’ve been caring for Johnny all this time.

_He’s a little surprised. Had never thought of himself like that, assumed he was damaged goods now. Takes heart. Decides to go for it._

QUINN - So c-c-can I t-take you out? I’ll get a babysitter. Take you for dinner.

JULIA - Dinner? Not just a dive bar? You _have_ changed. That would be lovely. How about Friday? I’m on an early shift, I’ll be free in the evening.

_He grins._

QUINN - OK. Great. Great.

_She smiles back at him. He rubs his eyes, his face._

JULIA – You should probably go to bed. You're really tired.

QUINN – Yeah.

_They stand. Look at each other. Lean in and kiss again. He strokes the back of her neck. Smiles, tears himself away to leave. As he crosses the kitchen…_

JULIA - Don’t forget to pick up your meds tomorrow. Your prescription’s ready by noon. Want me to text you?

QUINN - No. Thank you. I’ll remember.

_He pulls his phone out, stands and types a reminder slowly into it. She watches him fondly until he’s done._

QUINN - OK. Night.

JULIA - Night, Johnny.

_She sits down. Smiles._


	18. Chapter 18

He steps out of the shower, grabbing the handrail on the wall for balance - hadn't told anyone when he'd had it installed, booked the workman for a time he knew Julia would be out to avoid questions. But the room was so private he'd figured no one would see it. Seemed a small price to pay not to slip on the wet floor and lie there until someone found him.

He grabs a towel, rubs himself down. Walks into the bedroom. Sees himself in the full-length mirror on the front of the wardrobe, and for once, instead of walking past, stops and looks.

He'd stopped looking in the mirror after his stroke. When his body horrified him, when he couldn't bear to be reminded of his own existence. 

Once, not long after he was lifted out of bed for the first time, a nurse had pushed him through the hospital lobby in his wheelchair. Stopping to talk to a colleague, she unwittingly positioned him staring at his own reflection in the glass doors. Fuck. Barely able to speak then, he'd wailed at the sight of this strange figure in front of him, lying back helpless and supported by the chair and cushions and headrest, writhing in distress, completely unable to get up and stride away from what he saw. He saw his mouth gape and his clumsy right arm twist in panic, his left arm drop a few inches by his side, unable to lift it back up onto the cushion in his lap until the nurse reached over and moved it for him, made comforting noises, wiped a line of drool from his chin before realising the source of his torment and turning him away.

He remembered it with sudden, unwanted clarity. That world of utter confusion and loss that he had been slowly clawing his way out of ever since. Waking up encased in a body he didn't recognise and could no longer trust - failing to move when he desperately wanted it to, then spasming and seizing without his bidding, without warning, bringing pain and disability and humiliation.

After that day in front of the doors, he'd never looked at himself unless he really had to. In the gym at the VA there were mirrors everywhere, and he was supposed to watch himself to try and keep his body straight as he learned to walk again. He would focus on one small, functional body part at a time, rather than try and deal with the full reality of himself. Particularly hated the times he caught sight of his face and saw a frightened stranger looking back, eyes wide and staring, sweating and struggling.

It was part of the reason he'd stopped going to physio - unable to keep confronting the fact that he now embodied the very evil that had been done to him. The worst of human cruelty, written permanently now into his brain, his muscles, his awkward, lurching attempts at movement, and reflected back at him in those mirrors. Unable to articulate to Carrie that the sight of his own body redoubled his original suffering, he let her think he just couldn't be bothered, let the appointments slide, tried his hardest to become a stranger to himself.

But recently his relationship with his body had begun to change again. One lunchtime, a few weeks ago, he had sat down to eat a sandwich in the kitchen, felt a twinge shoot through his hip, and realised that he had just spent an entire morning without any pain, anywhere. First time since he'd stepped into that gas chamber 18 months ago that his body had not yanked at his attention from some place or another. Every minute since then had been somewhere between dull ache and total agony, until now.

This pain-free interlude was still the exception rather than the rule, but it was a start. The regular physio was working, it seemed. Not restoring function, but dialling down the pain and discomfort. Making it manageable, and now, it seemed, making it disappear all together for short spells. The relief was unspeakably wonderful.

And he was growing increasingly used to his disabilities. Had learned how to do all the things his new life demanded of him, taught himself well enough that he no longer had to be conscious of his body the whole time, struggling and thinking and working out how to get around the obstacles of normal life. He just did things, his way, without thinking. Easing his way through life rather than fighting.

If he thought about it head on, considered what the doctors had finally told him outright - that he'd never use his hand again, never regain movement below the shoulder, never walk easily - he felt like curling up and crying. That word 'never'. But one day at a time, just getting by - he could handle that now.

And that moment when Julia kissed him in the kitchen, it was like a light had switched on inside of him. The idea that he might not be something to be ashamed of, that someone might lay eyes on him and see... something normal - maybe even attractive - he was still trying to accept that, but it was beginning to lighten the heaviness he'd been living with a little further.

He remembered being given back David Exley's passport before he left the hospital after New York, and gazing at the photo for a long time. His CIA file photo. Taken a few years before. Supposedly him, but really not. Another man, in another world. Long gone, and now, he finally realised, not much missed. Not by Julia, apparently, and less so by him, with every passing day.

So, he stops, and regards himself. Tries to level his shoulders, reduce the droop of his left side a little. His left arm, unused for so long now, has grown thin, the muscle all but gone, barely more than skin and bone. He would hate it, except that Johnny has taken recently to tucking himself gently under it when they read together, rubbing Quinn's hand and fingers and forearm absent-mindedly like a security blanket. His beautiful son's unfettered, uninhibited affection another reason he has suddenly started to accept his body after railing against it for so long. The same way he doesn’t care about his fucked-up speech when he reads to Johnny. The one time his heart doesn’t race when his mouth halts into silence, because it simply doesn’t matter to either of them. Not nearly as much as the fact that they can now, after years of absence, sit together, their bodies and voices winding in and out of one another's, in comfort and affection. The slowness, the pauses, the stumbles and mumbling, just more things for Johnny to listen to, to get to know, to own and to love in the way he has longed for quietly to himself, each time he’s watched his friends with their own fathers.

Things have changed, too, ever since Helen had shared her adoring memories of him as a baby. The image of himself as an infant, cradled in her arms and gazing up at her with huge green eyes, was so different from his previous sense that he had emerged from a black hole at the beginning of life, and had dragged that darkness with him ever since; that she had summoned up this memory daily since then, with love and tenderness - that her love could be mapped over every day of his life; that he was once as innocent, as sweet, and as loved as his own son - all beginning to alter quite profoundly the way he sees himself.

Stares at himself in the mirror. His left hip less tight than it used to be, thanks to an unforgiving masseuse at the hospital who has him biting on a washcloth to muffle the pain while she digs into his muscles, but who leaves him walking more easily after his appointments than he has any other time since his stroke. His left leg a little thinner than his right, his foot strapped into its splint - which barely even registers with him now, he's so used to it.

Runs his hand over his scars. Fucking ridiculous that he's even alive, five gunshot wounds peppered across his torso - Gettysburg and Berlin on the left side of his gut, New York and Upper Chateaugay spread across the front of his shoulders.

Shudders to imagine a world in which one of those five bullets had succeeded in rubbing him out, ending him before he'd had the chance to hold his son, be held by his mother. Thinks of the countless people - so many of them unseen or forgotten by him in his incapacity - who had put him back together, time and again, when the world seemed intent on blowing him apart. Who operated on him, monitored him, gently washed and dressed him, held his hand and spoke to him when he couldn't reply. Suddenly feels inordinately lucky. Thinks for the first time that maybe his battered body is a sign of his strength, his ability to survive the unsurvivable, again and again, rather than just being a shameful, ragged remnant of human cruelty. A walking reminder of human compassion, even - the product of thousands of hours of care and determination that he should continue long enough to find something better.

He slides the wardrobe door open and looks at the contents. Baggy long-sleeved T shirts, elasticated pants - he's not reassessed his wardrobe choices since the occupational therapists gave Carrie a shopping list after the stroke - easy-to-wear, functional clothing, stuff that gave them a fighting chance of teaching him to dress himself.

Looks at the clock by his bed. Still early. He could head to the shops, still have time to get back to collect Johnny from school. Wonders if he could manage to button and zip a pair of pants with one hand. With a bit of practice, maybe. Pair of decent slip-on shoes instead of those fucking velcro ones. If he buys some button down shirts, gets the shop assistant to fasten them for him most of the way up, he can take them on and off over his head. Roll the cuffs back a little rather than button them. Something loose enough to disguise his thinner left arm, fitted enough to make him look a damn sight smarter than the T-shirts.

Just enough to make Jule proud of him, he thinks. To make him proud of himself, even, maybe. What a thought.


	19. Chapter 19

_Friday evening. Julia and Johnny’s house._

JULIA - Johnny, are you in bed?

_She raises her eyebrows, knowing full well that he’s sitting on the top step of the stairs in his pyjamas._

JOHNNY - Nearly.

JULIA - You said you’d be in bed before Daddy gets here.

_She rolls her eyes at Carmen, who has come to babysit. Carmen grins, and walks back to the kitchen to tidy up a little. She’s been in and out of the house so long, she lends a hand without even thinking._

_The doorbell rings. Johnny giggles. Julia turns up to him in mock exasperation._

JULIA - What?

_She opens the door._

_Quinn is on the step. He has a very sharp new haircut, and is wearing a beautiful, brand new, blue suit, a crisp white shirt. Freshly shaven. He looks stunning._

JULIA - Holy shit.

JOHNNY - Mom!

JULIA – Johnny...

QUINN - Hi.

_He grins. His eyes twinkle – he knows he looks good. She’s not seen him like this for… years._

JULIA - You look... incredible.

_She moves aside, kisses him on the cheek as he steps in, places her fingers on his arm. Oh my God she fancies him._

_Johnny runs down the stairs, cheering, grabs his dad round the waist and hugs him._

JOHNNY - Told you she’d like it.

JULIA - Did you know about this?

QUINN - He did my cufflinks. Got a bit stuck.

_Johnny reaches up and pulls his dad’s shirt cuffs out, shows off the cufflinks._

JOHNNY - See?

JULIA - Very good.

Well. We’re really going on a date. I feel underdressed.

QUINN - You look great. Beautiful.

_They kiss lightly on the lips._

_Johnny squirms and giggles all at once._

JOHNNY - Eww!

JULIA - Shut it, you! You’re supposed to be going to bed.

JOHNNY - Daddy, come tuck me in.

JULIA - No way, dude, we are going out. Carmen’ll put you to bed.

JOHNNY - Ohhh.

_Carmen appears in the kitchen doorway._

CARMEN - Oh, very nice!

JULIA - You OK to put him to bed?

CARMEN - Of course. You guys get going, we’re good.

JULIA - OK.

_A cab pulls up outside._

JULIA - That’s us, right - good night, you.

_She kisses Johnny on the head._

QUINN - Thanks, buddy. Night.

_Quinn leans and kisses him too._

_They step out the door, close it behind them. He’s about to walk to the cab, but she reaches out, tucks her fingers in the top of his waistband, pulls him to her._

JULIA - Hold on a second.

_Looks him in the eyes, close up._

You are so hot, Johnny Quinn. I’d ravish you right now if I wasn’t gonna mess up that incredible hair.

_They grin at each other. Kiss. Walk down the path hand in hand._


	20. Chapter 20

_Quinn and Johnny, walking up the road from school. Quinn wears a button down shirt and proper pants. Somehow they make him feel more adult, calmer, than he has in a long time. He’s carrying Johnny's school bag, they walk at Quinn's pace, Johnny sometimes running ahead and doubling back. A comfortable, well-worn routine.  
_

_He's had a good day. Actually called to cancel his physio appointment this morning because he felt so good. Spent a little time in the garden instead, planting some flowers Julia had bought. Slow work with one hand, and he'd had to lie down for a while after, but he'd lost himself in the task, felt peaceful and satisfied. Constantly amazes himself with this new fucking person he's become. Can hardly believe he has this life of simple pleasures._

_They arrive at the gate and turn towards the house._

_Sitting on the front step is Max.  
_

_Quinn stops dead. Grabs the fence. Reeling as if someone's just punched him in the gut.  
_

_Max stands._

MAX - Hey.

_Johnny looks up at Quinn. Quinn’s whole body is shaking._

_He struggles to speak, just manages to gasp -_

QUINN - Go play.

JOHNNY - Dad?

QUINN - GO PLAY.

_Johnny’s startled. He never sees his dad lose his temper. Knows him as a slow, sweet, kind, thoughtful, man. He looks at Max, then runs into the house._

_Quinn is still clutching the fence. He's white. Thinks he might faint._

_Tries to speak but just a snort comes out. Panicking. Tries again._

QUINN - Wh... wh.... what are you doing here?

MAX - Sorry to surprise you.

QUINN - Why?

MAX - Dar sent me.

_Shakes his head. This can’t be happening. He's hyperventilating, his leg gives way beneath him and he stumbles. Max puts a hand up to help him, but he pulls away, clings to the fence post like a man in fear of drowning._

QUINN - No.

Go 'way.

MAX - Quinn.

QUINN - GO AWAY.

MAX - I'm not gonna tell anyone you're here.

QUINN - I'm not. I'm dead.

MAX - It's OK - come sit down.

_Quinn looks up and down the street, realises the neighbours might see this scene. Gestures around the side of the house towards the yard at the back._

QUINN - Round here.

_He's holding the wall as he goes, staggering. His entire body suddenly numb with shock. But as they step round into the yard, and privacy, he feels the adrenaline kick in. Swings round and grabs Max by the throat, slams him against the wall._

QUINN - W-w-what are you d-doing here?

MAX - Let go of me.

QUINN - Tell me.

_Max pushes him off. Quinn's trembling so much it's easy to do._

MAX - Jesus.

QUINN - I'm dead. N-Nobody's supposed to know. What are you doing here? Who knows?

MAX - Only me.

QUINN - Swear?

MAX - I've always known, man.

QUINN - What?

MAX - I helped get you out. Dar was about to get arrested. Needed to make sure your death happened right. He asked me. Who do you think was signing off on your medical bills after New York?

QUINN - You?

MAX - Yup.

QUINN – You got me out?

MAX - Yeah.

_A pause while this sinks in. Then a thought of utter dread occurs -_

QUINN - You didn't tell Carrie?

MAX - No.

QUINN - Never?

MAX - No. I'm not gonna lie to you, I've wanted to. Really wanted to. But I never did.

QUINN - How... How is she?

MAX - You know Carrie, she just soldiered on. Until she couldn't any more. She fell apart for a little while.

_Quinn’s brow furrows._

MAX- But I didn't tell her. About you. Even when she was in the psych ward.

QUINN - S-s-psych ward?

MAX - She's OK now. But I won't ever tell her. Figured it was about time you got a break, whatever it took.

And actually I don't think it would help her a whole lot now. Knowing you left.

I don't blame you, though. At all.

_There's a silence as Quinn tries to absorb it all._

You’re doing OK, then, here?

QUINN - D-Don't ever tell her. Ever.

MAX - I won't. I really won't.

QUINN - I can't go back.

MAX - I know. You can trust me. I promise.

_Quinn thinks. Nods._

QUINN - Thank you.

So w-why you here?

MAX - It's Dar.

QUINN - What?

MAX - He's dying.

_Quinn reels again. He sits heavily onto a plastic garden chair. Can't find any words. Max sits, too._

Cancer.

They transferred him to the hospital. He doesn't have long. He wanted you to know. Guess he thought you might visit.

_Silence. Quinn staring at the floor. Eventually..._

QUINN - No. No. I won't.

_Max nods._

MAX - OK. Want me to tell him anything?

QUINN - No. N-Nothing to say.

MAX - OK.

QUINN - I know he got me out, but...

MAX - It's fine. I get it. You've moved on.

_Quinn nods.  
_

MAX - I'm glad you're doing all right. You seem like you're doing all right.

QUINN - I am. I'm doing great, actually.

_They look at each other. Quinn allows himself to relax a touch. Sees Max through new eyes. This guy really does have his back. Got him out. Kept his secret, against the odds._

It's unbelievable. Normal is just… unbelievable.

_Max grins._

MAX - He's a cute kid.

QUINN - He's amazing. Totally amazing.

I planted some f-fucking flowers this morning.

_He points at them, raises his eyebrows, grins._

That’s what I do these days.

_Max looks from Quinn to the flowers, and back, in disbelief._

MAX - Holy shit.

QUINN - I know.

MAX - Well they’re very beautiful, well done.

_They laugh. Just for a moment._

QUINN - Look, I'd ask you to st-stay for a beer, but...

_He points up to the house, Johnny inside._

MAX - It's OK. I get it.

_Max stands. Holds his hand out to shake. Quinn stands, ignores the offered hand, leans forward and hugs Max. They hold each other for a moment._

QUINN - Thank you.

_They pull apart._

MAX - Have a good life, man. You deserve it.

_Quinn nods. A small smile._

_Max walks to the corner of the house. Stops, looks back._

MAX - If you ever need me...

QUINN - I'll find you. Thanks.

_Max nods. Turns, and walks away._

_Quinn stands for a moment._

_Takes a few deep breaths._

_Looks at the garden, strewn with toys. The flowers, newly bedded in. The house. Opens the back door, and goes inside to hug his son._

 

_**The End.**  
_


End file.
